Bossy(19)
Even knowing what’s coming, I’m too tired to think straight. Last night was late, filled with documentation, legal briefs, conflicting statements, court orders and on and on and on, until I thought my head would explode. A serious caffeine injection is going to be necessary before I actually start doing anything. “They both suck? Sorry, Carl. No idea.”
He grins. “Good effort, kiddo, but no cigar. The vacuum cleaner has the dirt bag on the inside.”
My lips twitch a bit at the corners and Carl laughs, pointing at me with a sort of gotcha gesture. I wonder if he actually dislikes lawyers that much, or if all lawyer jokes are just that awful.
“Hey, you alright? You look pretty beat.” He looks me over with a grimace. “It’s only your second day, Ms. Anderson. It usually takes at least a week before this job sucks the life out of your soul.”
Apparently my concealer isn’t concealing nearly as well as I’d hoped. “Just call me Claire.” Formality never sat very comfortably with me. “I stayed up way too late trying to make sense of the case, that’s all. Gotta make sure I pull my weight, right?”
“Alright, Ms. Ander—Claire.” He grins apologetically, then leaning over the reception desk, he waves me closer. When I step forward, he whispers while looking around as if he’s afraid of getting caught. “No one here works as hard as they pretend to. Don’t let yourself burn out by trying to impress them. They won’t appreciate it anyway.” He winks and grins, then slides back into his chair.
“I think I might be the exception to that, but I’ll keep it in mind.” I yawn. “I’m just going to go... coffee. In the place, with that thing, that makes coffee.”
He nods at me as I walk off, and when I look back over my shoulder, he’s back to looking bored. What an odd character. The fact that Carl still works here and hasn’t been tossed out a window yet gives me a little bit of hope that my mother’s new husband isn’t nearly as dull and humorless as he seems.
Shutting the door to my little office, I’m thankful for the quiet that felt so isolating yesterday. I’m so tired I feel hungover. This had better be some high-octane java. I drop my briefcase on my desk and set my cup down. Spinning my chair around, I flop into my seat.
A loud, penetrating blast like the horn of a cruise ship explodes from under my butt. I jump to my feet in panic. My heart threatens to burst out of my chest, and the noise feels like a pickaxe through my skull, a high pitched whine torturing my eardrums as if I just came out of a nightclub. The sound echoes off the walls out in the common area.
What the hell? I know we’re high up, but is this an air raid drill?
Everyone in the main room turns to look in my direction. Even the office doors pop open and people stick their heads out, wondering what on Earth is going on. I’m absolutely mortified, and I don’t even know why. I shrug my shoulders and they glare at me, like somehow I failed to sit properly and this is all my fault.
Dropping to the carpet to look underneath my seat, the culprit is easy enough to spot. An air horn, duct taped to the column so the trigger was pushed as soon as I sat down. I’m almost, almost, ready to charge over and let Carl take the blame, but as the ringing in my ears slowly fades, an all too familiar laugh comes faintly through the door to Declan’s office.
His feelings run deep? Not as deep as I’m about to shove this air horn.
I get up, furious. Two purposeful strides and I tear open his door. I have the satisfaction of seeing him jump before a shit-eating grin spreads on his handsome face. “Good morning. Did you just come in? I thought I heard something.”
Slamming my hands down on his desk, I lean over it and snarl. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” He’s laughing while he says it, unable to keep a straight face.
“You gave me a freaking heart attack!” There’s a staple remover on his desk, and I throw it at him, bouncing it off his broad chest. “You’re an asshole.”
“Ouch!” He laughs and rubs where it hit. “What? Can’t hack it in the big leagues? Going home to cry to mommy?”
“Big leagues? You mean little league, right? This is ridiculous. What the hell is your problem?”
“What can I say? I was feeling a little horny this morning and thought of you.”
“You... You!” I’m so mad I can barely speak. “You’re a child dressed up like a man and I’m supposed to learn something from you? Our parents are going to be thrilled when they hear about this.”